Chemo #3

I didn’t realise it at the time but I think that it all started to go wrong with the chocolate milk. The night before my chemo I forgot to have my usual glass of cold, sweet milk. I read somewhere that it helps you prepare for the onslaught of cancer-kicking chemicals. Not sure how much science there is to that but it’s a comforting routine.

It was dark when we set out for the hospital on Tuesday morning. My aunt Judy was driving us. She was a games maker driver for the Olympics so I knew I was in safe hands. But the miserable weather and sloooooow traffic jams seemed determined to conspire against us. Then I remembered about the missed milk. I knew it was going to be one of those days.

When we arrived I noticed that the room on the chemo ward, which was to be my base for many hours ahead, had a stopped clock. That just about summed up how I felt.

If you’re not ill, you may think that its terrible what I’m going though. It is. But I also get to see the other side. At hospital there are many people who are far worse than I am. Clearly it means that there are sometimes emergencies and delays which can’t be predicted. I don’t mind waiting, I’m just relived that its me left sitting there, instead of causing the consultants to come rushing off through the corridors.

I was told that my blood count was really good. It means my body is coping with the savage chemo regime and my immune system is recovering well in-between the sessions. The only problem is with magnesium. As always, it seems, this is far too low and I needed a bag of it via the IV drip. That added on another two and a half hours before the chemo kick-off. And so it went on.

But there was no drama for me, thankfully. Instead I had wonderful friends to entertain me who brought cakes, presents and gossip from the outside world. I feel so very lucky to have the support of lovely family and friends.

And I’ve saved the best for last. I had my first set of test results since the start of my latest lot of toxic cocktails. Big drum roll…..They show that the chemo is working!!!

After just one session of chemo, the tumour marker tests called the CA125, has dropped by a quarter. It’s amazing news and will help me get through all the horrible side effects to come. I’m already half way through my treatment. Just three more to go. Hooray!

Back home after a marathon 11 hours at hospital, I finally got that cold glass of chocolate milk. It was a sweet celebration.

Oh, by the way, happy 100 to me! This is my 100th blog post. I never thought I would do so much blogging. But continuing to blog means that I’m still here and still going strong. Thanks for reading and being there for me.

A perfect ten

Dolphins. How I dread those hospital dolphins.

They swim along the corridor on the way to the chemotherapy unit. Even the ceiling has been painted to make it seem as if you’re under the sea. It may look tranquil but just seeing the dolphins made me feel completely drained.

There might as well be a neon sign that says CANCER? COME THIS WAY….

As if that wasn’t bad enough, towards the end of the corridor it starts to slope upwards. It takes every last bit of your energy to walk the last part of it. Mum had come with me. My arm was through hers as we slowly made our way up the corridor.

It’s been a month since my chemo ended. I was there for a final check-up to find out for sure that the toxic treatment had been successful.

This is where I was told I had cancer. More than six months later I was back in the same room and in the same chair. Mum was next to me, also in the same seat as before. I felt so sick that I thought I might have to run out of the room.

However I was so focused on what we were about to be told that I felt compelled to stay. As far as big moments go, this was pretty massive.

If I got the all clear, then I’d be done with the disease, the doctors and the dolphins.

But if I didn’t, then it would mean that those evil chemo cocktails hadn’t worked. We’d have to try again. Jump through more hoops. Worse still, it could suggest that the cancer was terminal and that putting any amount of poison into my veins wouldn’t kill it.

At the hospital there’s a team of people involved in my care. For this appointment I was seeing a consultant who I’ve known for years, ever since the first cancer. She’s never had to break any bad news to me. She is the Good Doctor. Surely this must be a positive sign?

I know that the treatment has already gone really well. All the tumours have been removed and my blood test results are back to normal. But you don’t know what could happen next.

The blood test is known as a CA 125. Basically I needed to get a low number. Anything higher than thirty could mean the cancer had come back.

After chatting for a few minutes it was down to business. My consultant looked at my notes, at my records on the computer screen and then back at me as she said the magic number.

I’d scored a ten. A perfect ten.

The Good Doctor quickly revealed that there was also nothing nasty on my scan. It was a stunning set of results. She brought up a different screen on the computer.

“See, your organs look lovely, don’t they?” I had to take her word for it. All I could make out was a moving black and white image of my insides.

She pointed out various bits and pieces. It was a cross section of a healthy body. My healthy body.

“Hooray! It’s all gone!” The Good Doctor threw her arms in the air. We all grinned and punched the air. My sickness went; it was replaced with pure relief.

That’s it. Finally it’s all over.

The treatment has officially been successful. I won’t have another check-up for months.

After lunch in the hospital canteen, oh yes my celebrations are not always Kylie and cocktails, we got a lift home from the flower girl.

It ended where it all began, outside my house with my friend, Chantal in her big flower van. This is how I started out on my cancer journey when she took me to hospital for what turned out to be a life saving operation.

Back then I had no idea just how hard it would all be or whether I’d even be able to defeat the disease. That’s why I originally called this blog – beating cancer, again, hopefully.

I never realised quite how important the blog would become to me. I’ve been blown away by the love and support that I’ve received. I’ve appreciated every comment even though I may not have been able to reply to all of them.

So, thank you.

I’m now cancer free and there will be no more horrendous treatment but I’m still going to continue with this blog.

I’ve been given another second chance at life. Or maybe that makes it a third chance? Whatever it is, I hope that you’ll be joining me as I blog about life after cancer.

Beaten cancer, definitely

It has to be the best day I’ve had since this whole horrendous cancer nightmare began.

Yesterday was pretty perfect. I should have written about it last night but fatigue and a certain England football match, not necessarily in that order, got the better of me.

I have my third session of chemo today which will take me to the halfway point of my treatment so I saw my consultant yesterday afternoon. Let’s call him The Professor. Now he isn’t any ordinary consultant. He’s very senior and not only that he’s also one of the leading experts in the country on my kind of cancer. To me basically he’s God.

And he was able to tell me that I really am going to live!

We already knew that every bit of the cancer which could be seen by the surgeon was removed from my body. The pea and all his uninvited friends are long gone. After starting chemo a few weeks ago I had a very important blood test. It was to establish if any cancer was still lurking inside my body. Or more worryingly if it had come back since the big operation.

The Professor beamed at me as he delivered the incredibly wonderful news. The killer disease has been successfully treated!!! This is offically the second time that I’ve beaten cancer. You could say it’s Me 2 – 0 Cancer. I now need to think about changing the name of this blog.

For anyone interested, my CA 125 is now 10, well within the normal range and way down compared to when I was diagnosed.

A wave of relief and joy and surprise swept over me. I’ve been totally focused on the chemo and I’d forgotten that I was due the result of this test. It was an amazing moment. This confirms that I definitely no longer have cancer.

After some very happy swearing I opened my notebook and started to go through a list of questions I wanted to ask about the chemo. It’s the kind of pad that I’d normally use for work. Now I use it for this job.

We spent ages taking about the terrible side effects – mostly the pain and the tiredness. There’s not a lot that can be done about the exhaustion apart from resting.

But The Professor who speaks with a slight Scottish accent did have some more good news. This time I don’t need to have the dreaded post-chemo injection to boost my immune system as it’s still quite strong The jab gives me the worst pain. Ever. Without it I’ll be able to cope much better with all the other stuff.

There was one last question.

“What about my hair?” I asked The Professor. “Shouldn’t it have fallen out by now?”

“I was going to say the same thing. How come you still have so much?” He replied with a smile.

I ran my fingers over my scalp and a few hairs came out but not many. He thinks that I could be one of the lucky few to not lose all my hair thanks to the freezing cold hat that I wear during treatment. If it doesn’t all disappear by next week, then I really might not go bald.

On the way out The Professor gave me a massive hug. It was a great day at the office for both of us.